I Don't Want
by AnonymousBadger
Summary: "Do you know what I heard just now? Your heart beating slightly faster over the words 'I. Don't. Want.'" Peter bites Stiles against his will and Stiles is left to deal with the trials and tribulations of a young werewolf slowly falling in love with his alpha. Follows the story of the TV series with significantly changed plot points and timeline. Sterek Stiles/Derek
1. Code Broken

I. Don't. Want.

Chapter 1:Code Broken

"So you're not gonna kill me?"

Stiles regretted the question the moment it left his lips. There in that dark parking garage he'd just had to go and question the monster about to leave him alone.

Peter turned around and Stiles took a step back, choking on his own saliva. "Oh, God."

"Don't you understand yet? I'm not the bad guy here."

"You turn into a giant monster with red eyes and fangs and you're 'not the bad guy' here?" Peter's face looked contemplative for a moment, like he'd come to an important decision. Stiles was 97.3% percent sure it was to kill him and his big mouth.

"I like you Stiles," Stiles exhaled the air he didn't know he'd stopped breathing, a curse under his breath. From Peter the statement sounded like a death knell. "Since you've helped me, I'm going to give you something in return. Do you want the Bite?

"What?" Stiles couldn't quite comprehend what he'd just heard.

"Do you want, the Bite?" He said the last word with force, making the T sound as if it had it's own bite to it. "If it doesn't kill you, and it could, you'll become like us." Peter sounded as if he was making a business proposal, like he was discussing what they would have for dinner that night, but definitely not like he'd just brought up such a terrifyingly seductive prospect.

"Like you."

"Yes, a werewolf, would you like me to draw you a picture?" Peter's sassy tone returned and he seemed to be losing patience. He took a moment and stepped closer, crowding Stiles' personal space. "That first night in the woods I took Scott because I needed a new pack. It could just have easily have been you. You'd be every bit as powerful as him. No more standing by his side, watching him become stronger, and quicker, more popular - watching him get the girl." Peter's voice, his tone and the empathetic, serenely gentle look on his face were so convincing, inviting. Stiles tried not to look into those eyes that promised so much, tried not to show what the offer was doing to him. "You'd be equals. Maybe more."

Stiles' heart pounded uncomfortably hard against his chest and Peter tenderly wrapped long fingers around his wrist and - slowly so as not to frighten him - lifted it to his mouth. Then in his quiet, gentle, tempting voice he asked, "Yes or no?"

It was a moment lost in time for Stiles as Peter looked him in the eyes, staring him down with all the confidence of someone who had already received such a superb gift as what he now offered. The tension built in him, steam in a boiler, begging to be released in a hiss of confirmation. His body went rigid, preparing for the pain that Peter's elongating incisors would cause. Prepared for a change.

He snapped his hand back; so close that his sleeve harmlessly grazed Peter's jaw. The alpha werewolf before him looked offended at the rejection.

Stiles put all the force he could muster into his next words. "I don't wanna be like you."

"Do you know what I heard just now?" Stiles' face was a mess of confusion and horror to Peter's mocking words. "Your heart beating slightly faster over the words "I. Don't. Want."

His jaw worked but no words came out to defend him. Peter went on, harsh now. "You may believe that you're telling me the truth, but you are lying to yourself. Goodbye Stiles."

Stiles mouth opened, suddenly desperate to stop the tall dark killer from leaving, sucking in a quick gulp of air. No betraying words escaped him. He closed his mouth almost instantly.

But not fast enough.

Peter spun around, eyes glowing red and face a terrifying mask of hard lines and angry ridges. Stiles saw Peter's gaping mouth, full of sharp fangs close in on him - then there was pain.

Peter's long fingers were wrapped around his biceps, pinning his arms. His knees quaked and gave in under the weight and force of Peter until he was on his side on the ground, the monster above him. A burning, aching, seething pain ripped through him from his waist, just under the rib cage. The veins around the spot were in flames, blazing out until his entire left side was on fire.

Agony ripped through his body under Peter's jaws. His head felt like it was going to explode if he couldn't let the pressure out of it, so he screamed.

The werewolf looming over him was looking him in the eyes when Stiles could finally see again through the pain. There was a hideous laughing sound coming from the twisted jaw.

"Don't look like that Stiles," Peter's face was his own again. He was no longer holding Stiles, but it barely made a difference. Stiles felt as if his entire body was seizing up. All he could do was curl in on himself a little more. Peter was smiling, inspecting his handiwork. Stiles whimpered when Peter lightly brushed his hand over the wound. "You know you wanted this."

Chapter 1: End


	2. Pilot License

I. Don't. Want.

Chapter 2: Pilot License

The first full moon Stiles experienced was a huge, blue grey orb shining brilliantly in the night sky. He could feel the light it cast on his skin like they were touching; him and the moon. Stiles vaguely compared it to his idea of what making love would feel like…

And then the calm, meditative feeling would leave him and only anger was left. The shackles about his wrists cut into his skin. He just wanted to run, to chase, to kill.

From where he was now – lying curled up on the dirty cement of the parking garage, sobbing into his knees - Stiles' first full moon was a long way away.

Peter was gone, but his mocking, gruff laughter lingered, playing in a loop through Stiles' mind. It mocked his pain, his sobbing, his weakness. It mocked the pitiful end to Stiles' pitiful life, as it had been.

The pain faded finally as awareness of the situation gripped him. Lydia was in the hospital, mauled by the same monster and fighting for her life. And here he was crying on the floor of a parking garage, surviving Peter's bite like it was nothing.

It took him four tries to sit up, but only three to stand. That was progress Stiles could be proud of. He staggered to his Jeep, useless now with his ruined keys. Luckily, the doors were unlocked and his father was adamant about well-stocked First Aid kits.

Stiles wasn't sure what he was doing would be very helpful, but he figured it was better than nothing. He shed several tears, manly ones he told himself, as he wrapped a roll of gauze around his waist over the oozing bite marks. The kit's bandages didn't come close to covering the evidence that Stiles' life was going down the drain.

Thoughts like that wouldn't help - he knew that. He knew there were more important things to be doing than pitying himself.

It was also the wrong time to wonder over the new power he may have gained, if he survived tonight.

Stiles stowed the First Aid kit and locked the doors. With a last look at the ruined keys in his hand he gathered himself up, took a deep breath, and started running in the direction of the hospital.

* * *

By the time Stiles was in the last elevator leading to the intensive care unit he was pale as a ghost and sweating more than the run deserved. Breathing deeply hurt his side, but at least he had yet to bleed through the gauze and not-so-fresh change of shirt from the back of the Jeep that he'd changed into.

The ratty shirt proclaiming "I Love MTV!" clashed terribly with his dress pants, but it wasn't covered in blood, so that was a plus.

He tried to hurry out of the elevator when the doors parted on his floor but found he could either go quickly _or_ look as if he wasn't about to keel over. But not both. The choice was clear when he saw his father approaching from across the room.

His father grabbed his shoulders angrily and Stiles held back a hiss of pain as the motion jarred his side. His dad said some things, obviously mad. Stiles just stared past him at the girl in the intensive care room and rambled about losing his keys and having to run until his dad quieted.

"Is she gonna be OK?" Stiles' eyes still hadn't left Lydia's oxygen mask covered face.

His father sighed and told him the doctors didn't know. She'd lost a lot of blood and her body was continuously going into shock. They didn't know why. Stiles did. He looked down at his waist, pensive. His father didn't notice.

"Did you see anything? Did you see what did this to her?"

"No, I didn't- I just," Stiles noticed Jackson watching them. He was standing beside the window to Lydia's room, wide eyed. He looked kind of punchy. Lydia was still on the bed; from here he couldn't see her breathing. "I didn't see anything."

"What about Scott, did he see anything?" His dad brought him back to himself in a snap. He shook his head, confused.

"What do you mean? Scott's not here?"

"No, why- I've been calling him on his cell phone, I've gotten no response." Jackson turned to look him full in the face now. Stiles stared, a question implicit in his look. Jackson shook his head, shrugged his shoulders and mouthed "I dunno!"

Stiles' blood ran cold.

"Yeah, you're not gonna get one."

* * *

The rest of his night was a blur of adrenaline and stolen painkillers. Jackson drove his Porsche at top speed through Beacon Hills while Stiles mixed dangerous chemicals (also stolen) in the seat beside him. There was a lull at one point, when the chemicals were ready and the plan was talked through and they still weren't at the Hale house yet. Stiles cursed the time he had to think about his situation.

Mostly he just griped at his destiny, that he hadn't been bitten sooner if he had to be bitten at all. Werewolf powers would come in handy right now.

And then they were skidding to a halt across the dead grass covered driveway and Stiles was jumping out and Jackson was honking the horn and he was throwing that bottle with the soothing knowledge that it would hurt Peter. That it would really, really hurt.

Peter caught it.

"Oh d-damn," Stiles swore as Peter's full attention turned on him. His side throbbed.

Then Scott was yelling and Allison was shooting and there was fire. Everything happened quickly after that. _More _quickly than it had happened already. _Quicklier, _Stiles thought.

Jackson threw his bottle and Peter was engulfed in flames. He rounded on Stiles and Jackson, roaring in pain and anger, but Scott gave him a kick that sent him sprawling before he could attack the two of them.

Then he burned. He burned until he'd turned from a hulking wolf-creature into a man. Burned until his skin bubbled and melted. Burned until the chemicals put themselves out. And Stiles watched, determined to let the sight burn out the memory of Peter's attack.

The air was rank with the smell of charred flesh.

When Stiles looked away from the gasping, deformed body laid out on the forest floor he saw Scott kissing Allison – or was Allison kissing Scott? – and Mr. Argent was on the ground, but safe. Jackson let out a shaking breath and stumbled backwards to lean against the hood of his car. Stiles, feeling weak at the knees (which he would never admit) followed his example.

Everything was OK now. Everything would be OK. Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. Everything but _that_.

"Wait!" Stiles' eyes flew open to see Scott, yelling at Derek, begging him to stop. Yelling something about a cure. _The cure!_ Stiles watched then with renewed interest. If Scott killed Peter he might yet be cured!

_Which one of us though? _The realization that they couldn't both kill Peter caught up with his renewed hope and squashed it. Was there a way to cure both of them? Did he even want to be cured?

From where he was he could see Derek's face; it spoke volumes. Derek wasn't going to wait, he wasn't going to stop. A part of Stiles silently thanked Derek when he clawed Peter's throat out. Not for revenge, but for taking the decision out of his hands. Now there was no question, no choice. Derek had passed the verdict for Scott _and_ Stiles, though he didn't know it yet.

"I'm the Alpha now," Derek said, and his eyes glowed red as proof.

* * *

The next day Scott called him about Lydia's condition. Stiles couldn't help his disappointment when Scott pronounced she wasn't a werewolf. None of her wounds had healed like they should have, like Stiles' had already done. But she would live.

No one in-the-know was particularly surprised when Stiles said he just needed a day to himself. He said he felt ill, panicky – he was tired and he just needed some extra rest. They were surprised he hadn't gone to see Lydia, but Stiles suspected they were all tired and panicky enough themselves to not bother too much about it.

Truth was he didn't want to be around Scott. He knew from Scott's first days that Derek had sensed him, even before he was getting fangy. He wasn't ready yet. Stiles didn't quite know why, he just knew he wasn't ready yet. It wouldn't be long now.

Of course, being Stiles, he'd memorized the moon charts right after he'd figured Scott was a werewolf.

Tomorrow it would be full.

It wouldn't be long now.

* * *

"Derek?" Stiles called from outside the burned out Hale house. He was trying not to be unnerved by the clear smell of charred flesh still on the air. He'd woken up in the morning and been able to smell his dirty socks clear across the room. Which wouldn't have been such a surprising difference if he couldn't also smell the dirty socks from his father's room, the mold in the bathroom, the three year old potpourri downstairs and the freshly excreted dog turd in the neighbor's yard. Among other things.

Charred flesh definitely trumped dog crap on the Horrible Smells list he was compiling in his head. He'd had to throw away his container of Axe because he'd been able to smell it without even spraying it. It was on the list.

"Derek? Are you there?" He meandered closer to the door, almost mounting the front steps, but then he stopped. Backed up even. _Deep breathes, _he told himself. Then he choked on the overwhelming smell and taste of burned man. He scraped his tongue with his teeth, as if that would help, then gave up. This was getting annoying. "If you are, I know you can totally hear me! I need to talk to you!"

Stiles waited a few moments. Did he hear something in the house? Maybe, he couldn't keep track of all the new things he could hear. It was starting to get late and it was already dark in the woods, though Stiles had to admit he could still see clearly.

"Derek come on!" After pacing in front of the porch several times, muttering, Stiles gave in and walked up the stairs. There was a giant hole in the house he could have walked through, but he went to the door instead. He tried the knob. It turned. He was kind of hoping it wouldn't. He poked his head in first and swiped it side-to-side. Slowly, he crossed the threshold, only opening the door as far as was necessary to get through it.

"It was unlocked, so I just…" He started jokingly, quoting every movie ever, but his voice died to a squeak when he saw the two bright red eyes at the top of the central staircase. "Uhh…"

"Stiles?"

"Already forgot about me, huh?" He tried to joke, but his last word came out comically high and Stiles' cheeks grew hot.

Derek sniffed the air in front of him as if searching for something. Stiles didn't think he had a chance of smelling anything over Peter's stench, but he must have found something, because he stopped and his eyes dimmed to their normal, human color.

"So I umm, just had a couple of questions-" Stiles started lamely, working up to his big reveal, when Derek jumped down the entire flight of stairs, eyes glowing, teeth bared, forehead bumpy.

Stiles threw himself backwards into the half closed door, slamming it shut with his back. Derek landed inches from him, arms to the door on either side of Stiles' head, growling low.

Something in Stiles just snapped at that. He let out a bellow, or maybe it was a roar, and before he knew what he was doing he shoved Derek's chest. Derek stumbled back but righted himself easily. He growled louder and stepped in even closer, easily catching Stiles' wrists when Stiles attempted to slash at him.

Then Stiles realized he'd just tried to slash at Derek with clawed fingers and recoiled violently, rear slamming into the door yet again. Derek didn't release his wrists, but his eyes turned to hazel. Stiles had never been close enough to peg them as hazel.

"When did this happen?" Derek asked, voice still growley. He was inspecting Stiles' hands as if he wasn't sure if it was some kind of fluke. _Right there with ya, pal. _

For a while he didn't say anything, just panted and stared at the half moons of blood peeking through Derek's shirt where his fingers had just been. His _clawed_ fingers. Stiles didn't know what to say.

"Answer me," Derek growled and Stiles flinched.

"Peter," Stiles said. He noticed his own voice had grown distorted. It was lower and rough. He sounded angry. Which made sense, because he _was_ angry. Of course he was angry!

"Obviously," Derek's voice was clipped, but his next words didn't hold the irritation that Stiles had learned to expect when Derek spoke to him. "I asked when, not who."

Stiles gulped around the sudden constriction in his throat. He didn't want to think about this. His arm twitched. "Two days ago, the night of the dance."

"Why?"

Stiles growled, offended. Why? He was really asking why? As if Stiles wasn't good enough for Peter to want to change? The beat of his heart rose with the heat rising up in Stiles, but he tried to calm down. He reminded himself why he'd come and took a deep breath.

"Look, Derek, I need your help," He ground out through his clenched teeth. His eyebrows knit together. Derek nodded as if agreeing with him; Stiles' chest just got hotter and hotter. "I came to ask for your help tonight."

"You didn't go to Scott," He looked thoughtful for a moment, then took a step back. Stiles didn't dare move from the door though. With his legs as shaky as they were, he thought if he lost the door's support he might just fall to his knees. Or maybe he would explode. With the heat in his body expanding so rapidly he couldn't be sure spontaneous combustion wasn't a possibility.

"Scott doesn't know yet. With everything that's happened in the last couple of days, I just thought this-" Stiles gestured at himself kind of lamely, "-this would be too much for him."

"And you thought the last couple of days have been easy on me?"

"Well, no, but it's not as if you care about me being turned," Stiles threw back. He noticed then that it was hard to close his mouth fully, like it was too crowded, so he just let it hang open. His head pounded painfully with each throb of his heart, distracting him.

"Right. So then why should I help you?"

"I dunno Derek, because I lit your uncle on fire?" He snarled furiously, then leaned more fully on the door and groaned, lifting clawed hands to his aching head. It was so hot! The groan turned into a long whimper and Stiles finally lost the support of his legs and slid to the ground, eyes screwed tight. He started panting.

When he opened them they were a bright, mustard yellow color, staring hatefully at Derek. Stiles crawled his way back onto his feet and a long growl vibrated out of his chest and into the open air between them. Derek raised an eyebrow.

Stiles launched himself at the alpha, arms out to rake at his chest, but Derek easily shoved him away. He snarled again, watching as Derek calmly cracked his neck, eyes turning a dangerous red.

He lunged again, this time from the side, but the larger man caught one of Stiles' arms and threw him to the ground. Stiles landed with a crunch and let out a pained whimper. In a flash Derek was on top of him, clawed hands pinning Stiles' wrists to the floor while crouched over his torso. He thrashed, hands rotating and fingers curling in an attempt to scratch at the massive hands shackling him.

His shoes slipped on the floorboards as he tried to buck Derek off, but the alpha released a low, rumbling growl that stilled the straining boy. Slowly, Stiles raised his yellow eyes to meet Derek's red ones. Derek's lips were pulled back from sharp fangs, the growl still vibrating from his chest. The new wolf below him bared his own teeth and Derek snapped at him, jaws gnashing centimeters from Stile's face.

Stiles ducked his head immediately, looking away and whining pitifully. Derek gave him an appraising look and sniffed approvingly. He stood and dragged the gangly, passive teen to his feet, hands still closed around his wrists. He smiled with all his teeth as Stiles avoided making eye contact and continued to whine meekly.

"I'll help you tonight, Stiles."

* * *

It was dark when Jackson stepped out of his Porsche in front of the Hale house, despite the full moon overhead. He shut the door carefully, then cursed his own fear. He knew what he wanted, he shouldn't be afraid. Jackson wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and went to the front of the house. He thought of all he could be and mustered his failing courage.

"Derek! Come out! I know you can hear me! I helped you get what you wanted!" He yelled through the front door. He was sure Derek was there. He could hear noises from inside. Steeling himself, he opened the door. "Now it's my turn to get what I want!"

For a moment he thought he must have been mistaken and Derek wasn't here. For another moment he was happy to think Derek was far away, that he could turn around and leave and it wouldn't be because of the mounting fear gnawing at his stomach. Then he saw red, glowing eyes at the top of the stairs, floating in the darkness until Derek stepped forward into the dim light and his wolfed out face was revealed.

Jackson's blood ran cold. Derek advanced towards him down the stairs until a baleful roar filled the decrepit house. It was followed by a quieter, forlorn howl and much scraping of chains on wood. Derek looked behind him towards a dark hallway, then back down to Jackson.

"Get out of here, Jackson," Derek said, then turned around and slowly walked back the way he'd come. Jackson didn't move, unwilling to give up now. He moved to follow Derek, opening his mouth to protest, but Derek's head whipped around and a deafening roar expanded through the house.

Jackson took off back through the front door and tripped down the stairs. He scrambled to his feet, wrenched his neck to look behind him, then ran to his car and threw himself into it. Derek listened to the Porsche's engine rev and the tires spin out down the drive, then returned to his room.

In a corner near his closet, straining at his chains until his wrists bled, crouched Stiles. He was snapping and snarling until the alpha's bright eyes landed on him. The freshly agitated teen wolf looked at Derek, yellow eyes wide, then slumped back down to the floor.

Chapter 2: End


	3. First Chance at Second Life

I. Don't. Want.

Chapter 3: First Chance at Second Life

When Stiles woke up he was chained to the wall and floor.

There was a panicked minute when he remembered nothing of the previous night and thought he was at this moment tied up in some sort of seedy sex den, waiting to be shipped abroad and sold off. He was in a room with one door to his left, wood floors and faded blue walls. There was a bed that looked new in front of him. The sheets were made up but mussed.

As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes the pervading smell of mold and smoke hit him. His neck chaffed where a thick leather collar bound it. Then he heard a toilet flush a little ways away, followed by footsteps drawing near. Abruptly he recalled where he was.

Derek Hale stepped through the door and looked directly at him, unsurprised to find him awake. He silently nodded at Stiles.

"Is nodding werewolf language or do you really just lack the social grace to say Good Morning?"

Frowning, Derek crouched in front of Stiles and held the key up. He gave it a short wave back and forth in front of Stiles' face. "Do you want out or not?"

"Okay, fine, fine! Sourwolf," Stiles only muttered the last part, even though he knew Derek could still hear him. Derek's eyebrow raised, pointedly ignoring the comment as he found the locks on both shackles. Finished with his hands, Derek unlocked his feet and then reached for the collar.

"Wait, wait!"

"What?"

"Be honest with me; do I look good in a collar?"

* * *

"And then he just left! He was gone for half an hour!" Stiles gesticulated wildly and Scott laughed. "When he came back he beaned me in the face with the key and told me to get out."

"And that's why you were late for morning practice today?" Scott asked incredulously.

"The worst part is he never gave me an answer!" Stiles complained, definitely louder than was necessary in the middle of the cafeteria. In fact, the whole conversation had been a bit too loud. Classic Stiles. Or maybe that was just his new ears in action.

Scott laughed. He'd taken the whole, 'Stiles is Now a Werewolf' thing incredibly well. It turned out to be much easier to tell Scott than he'd expected. Stiles assumed that was because he hadn't actually had to _tell _Scott, per say.

Instead, while Stiles had been trying to gather his wits after pulling up in the school parking lot – trying to come up with the best way to spill the beans – Scott's senses had taken care of it.

"Stiles?"

"Scott?"

"Stiles, you smell like a werewolf."

"So do you Scott."

And so it was that Scott knew Stiles was a werewolf. There were questions after that, explanations that had to be cut short to fit into their lunch period (and especially to fit around the PB&J Stiles was devouring) and a whole lot of Scott looking much happier than Stiles anticipated.

There was of course the requisite empathy, - many, many sympathetic pats on the back - but overall Stiles figured Scott was sort of glad to have Stiles fully in his world to suffer alongside him. He was sure Scott was just glad to still have a friend in this mess they called their lives. It could have easily gone the other way for him.

At their lockers after lunch Scott finally asked the _other _question Stiles had been dreading. They were past "Stiles is a Werewolf," and now there was this.

"Why didn't you come to me for help, Stiles?" Scott asked, bringing out the puppy dog eyes in full force.

"Well, Scott-"

At that moment Jackson came up behind Stiles and slammed his locker door shut with a metallic bang that reverberated through Stiles' sensitive ears. Several things happened after that bang. Scott and Allison jumped apart, Jackson yelled "Scott!" and Stiles' hands flew up to cover his ears.

"Oh my God!" Stiles cried, eyes shut, ears ringing painfully. His eyes felt damp when he stood back up and faced Jackson. "Dude! Right in my ear!"

Jackson took a quick step back, tripping over his own feet.

"Stiles!" Scott hissed, grabbing his friend's hoodie and throwing it over his head. When Stiles turned around his eyes shone mustard yellow under a thick brow. His close cut hair had grown down into a tiny widow's peak on his forehead and the fuzzy sideburns on his cheeks looked odd in comparison to the hair on his head. Scott seized Stiles' hands and shoved them into the front pocket of his jacket, yellow-brown claws and all. "Stiles, come on dude, not here!"

Scott hooked his arm around Stiles' shoulders and started to push and pull him down the hall towards the gym. Stiles kept his head down and tried not to make eye contact with anyone, thoroughly freaked.

There was no one in the boys locker room when Scott opened the door and stuck his head inside to check. Stiles scrambled inside after him and Scott pushed him down onto a bench around the corner from the door.

"What are you doing man? Right in the hallway?" Scott put a shaky hand through his hair, looking Stiles' wolf face over. The ridges on the other boy's nose were softer and his nose still held it's upturned point.

"It's not like I can help it Scott! I've only had three days to get used to all this!" Stiles snarled back, more bite to his words than he'd meant.

"If you'd come to me sooner we could have worked on finding your anchor so stuff like this doesn't happen!" Scott barked, an accusing finger pointing in Stiles' chest. The door opened slowly and both boys quieted abruptly, looking towards the door.

"Well look at that," Jackson rounded the corner, a hand holding the single backpack strap over his shoulder. Stiles opened his eyes to frown at Jackson. "What was Derek thinking, turning a scrawny wimp like you?"

"This isn't the time, Jackson," Scott said forcefully, squaring his shoulders and facing the larger teen.

"Hey, I'm just saying. Maybe we should have kept the other alpha around, if Derek is gonna make decisions just as bad as him, what's the difference? I wonder what you did to convince him to bite you, eh, Balinski?"

Jackson didn't even have a chance to laugh at his own joke before Stiles threw him into a locker. Scott jumped forward and had his arms under his friend's armpits in an instant, holding him back as the other wolf clawed at the air.

"Jackson get out of here!" Scott yelled, voice gravelly. Stiles struggled forward, pushing off with his feet in an attempt to get at Jackson while he pulled himself off the floor. "Hurry!"

When Jackson was out of sight around the lockers Stiles' attention switched to Scott. He switched from pulling forward to pushing back, getting Scott off balance and tripping him over the bench behind them. Scott fell between the bench and the lockers with a crash and Stiles made for the door.

The locker room door clicked shut just as Stiles reached it. He clawed at the handle ineffectually; he could smell that asshole Jackson right on the other side, holding the door shut. Stiles angry roar was cut short by Scott ramming into him from the side, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

Stiles stood back up slowly and stared at the other wolfed out teen. Scott's mouth was wide, baring his sharp canines. Stiles did the same and both growled, crouching, preparing to attack.

It was Stiles that moved first, lunging forward to slice at Scott's belly. Scott jumped out of reach then dove back in to grab Stiles by the collar of his jacket and throw him. Stiles sailed down one row of lockers into the wall there. Plaster dust settled onto him as he slid to the ground. He crawled onto his hands and knees but Scott kicked him back down.

Grabbing Scott's leg, Stiles pulled him to the ground beside him and rolled on top of him and stabbed down with his claws. His sharp claws pierced Scott's chest and Scott cried out, then reached up and gripped Stiles' head in both hands, curling up to smash his head into Stiles' until the other wolf fell off of him.

They both rose, panting, then lunged at each other again. In the scuffle neither one heard the locker room door open and close, or the approaching footsteps. Derek grabbed the backs of both their necks and pulled them apart, holding them so the tips of their shoes just brushed the ground, then tossed them into the showers.

Stiles and Scott slid on the tiled floors until they bumped into the back wall of the showers. Both betas snarled and growled at the alpha and Derek roared back, louder than the two combined. Scott was quiet but angry; he got to his feet, using the wall to help himself up.

The other beta sat up against the wall then stopped moving, out of breath. Scott could see blood in his hair and all the anger drained out of him, but the wound it was coming from was already healing. Confused, he watched Stiles start to shake and whine as Derek approached.

"What's wrong with him?" Scott asked, wide-eyed, looking back and forth between him and Derek.

"He's submitted," Derek said, crouching over Stiles much the same way he'd done the night before, during the full moon. Scott made a confused sound as Stiles closed his eyes and stretched his neck out, leaning his head back. Derek gave him an incredulous look before answering. "He's a submissive, Scott. Do you know anything about wolves?"

Then Derek leaned down, bracing his arms on the wall, and put his teeth over Stiles' neck. Stiles whimpered but didn't move. Derek took his mouth away and Stiles opened his eyes, careful not to make eye contact. The alpha grabbed a fistful of Stiles' collar.

"Submissive?"

"Yes, Scott," Derek said, dragging the smaller wolf under a shower head. "He's submissive to dominant enough wolves. It's a personality thing."

"He didn't mention anything about that," Scott scrunched his face up. Derek hadn't had to say "dominant wolves, like me." It was obvious what he meant. Derek turned the shower on and stepped back.

"He doesn't know."

Stiles spluttered as the cold water sluiced over him, soaking into his clothes, and to his immediate chagrin, his shoes as well. He tried to get up but groaned when parts of his body protested, aching. His back, particularly, felt like one big bruise. He found Scott and Derek watching him. He looked around, then back to the other wolves.

"Well this is awkward."

* * *

It was a good thing Stiles had an extra pair of clothes in his gym locker, otherwise he would have spent his chemistry class in wet clothes. Sloshing into class with wet shoes couldn't be helped, though.

The day was bad enough before Mr. Harris gave him and Scott detention for being late. The asshole implying that because of his treatment at the hands of the Sheriff he would be giving Stiles an extra hard time for the rest of the semester was icing on the cake.

Of course, bad days only get worse. After detention Stiles went to visit Lydia at the hospital. He spent a long time in the waiting room. Waiting. The hospital smelled awful; sterilizing chemicals and illness, mostly. While attempting his patented technique for getting stuck items out of vending machines Stiles forgot to take his new strength into account and the vending machine ended up propped against the opposite wall. Upside down. He left soon after.

* * *

"There's gotta be another way to do this."

"Come on man, this worked on me, remember?" Scott mocked, holding his lacrosse stick menacingly. A short distance across the field Stiles looked pale, hands bound with duct tape, Coach Finstock's heart monitor in place below his shirt.

"You look way too happy about this, buddy," Stiles returned, shifting his feet where he stood. "I think I misjudged how much I want to learn control."

"Just remember to keep your heart rate down," Scott said, hefting the lacrosse stick and trying to keep the smile off his face. Stiles didn't think he was trying hard enough. "Think of Lydia."

Stiles took 8 shots to the stomach, 1 to the head and 2 to the groin (that Scot apologized for) before he was ripping the duct tape apart and charging Scott. Halfway through shredding Scott's shirt a growl rippled across the dark field, followed by a commanding voice.

"Stiles, stop!" Derek's voice was calm and not quite loud. He spoke with absolute authority. Stiles froze and Scott took the opportunity to grab his arms. "Stiles, step back. Let him go Scott."

The two friends separated, but Scott kept his guard up, crouching low. Stiles glanced at Derek then quickly turned his eyes away. His mouth twitched over his teeth, holding back a snarl. Derek stepped close and gently put his hand on the back of Stiles' neck; the young wolf visibly relaxed.

"That is really handy," Scott said after he'd straightened up, still a little breathless. Derek ignored him.

"Stiles, breath deep," Derek's hand, though warm, felt cool on the back of Stiles' neck, thumb brushing the short hairs that grew there. Stiles shivered and took deep breathes. Between one breath and the next his wolf features faded back into his face. Several more chest stretching breaths and his eyes changed to normal. "You back?"

"Yeah," Stiles answered, still a little shaky. Derek's took his hand back. Stiles felt a little colder for it.

"What the hell were you doing?"

"Training," Scott said sheepishly. Stiles noticed Scott was trying to hide the lacrosse stick that he still held. The _half _of the stick he still held. Stiles groaned. "It worked for me."

"This is what you did?" Derek looked incredulously between Scott and Stiles. He shook his head, disbelieving. He was looking at Stiles as if he knew it was his idea. Stiles checked the urge to stick his tongue out at the man. "If you'd come to me I could have taught you a better way."

Stiles thought Derek sounded genuine. Derek was still looking right at him. For once Stiles felt like Derek wasn't mocking him.

"I can teach you how to control yourself, if you give me time."

He sounded so sincere, and maybe even gentle? Stiles was having trouble reconciling his notion of Derek with how he was acting now. But, he was willing to give him a second chance. He looked back into Derek's eyes and nodded slowly.

Scott made a choked sound and looked as if he was about to protest, but Stiles waved a silencing hand at him and made a face. "Dude, come on, you want me to _choose_ to have you sling lacrosse balls at my nuts?"

Chapter 3: End

* * *

[OOC Bonus Scene: Takes place after Derek tells Scott Stiles doesn't know he's a submissive wolf. This scene is not canon to the story, but the substance of the conversation is. :D

"Derek," Scott asked as Stiles spluttered under the cold water, coming back to himself.

"What?"

"Have you just been waiting outside of our school all day, watching us?"

"No," Scott nodded his head, relieved. "I couldn't see you, I've just been listening."]

AN: There were some formatting issues in the last chapter that may have caused some confusion. I didn't notice them until this chapter, sorry! Everything has been fixed now and I'll be careful to watch for issues in the future. :)


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